


A Two Minute Match

by redpapercrown



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Jealous Laurent (Captive Prince), M/M, POV Laurent (Captive Prince), Sexual Fantasy, king's rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:54:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29294727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpapercrown/pseuds/redpapercrown
Summary: Following the plot of King's Rising, Pallas challenges the new King to a wrestling match as is custom, and Damen accepts. Laurent is not prepared for his imagination to take over...
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	A Two Minute Match

**Author's Note:**

> *****
> 
> I just could NOT get this scene out of my head. Thus, I had to write it down. If I again become inspired, I might continue this to the scene where Laurent confronts Nik confronting Damen, but we shall see. might have to write some smut too, this one left a few things to be desired - but hopefully in a good way. 
> 
> If anyone likes to read and listen, the playlist "you're a femme fatale about to lead your target in a deadly trap (a playlist)" on youtube helped a lot. 
> 
> enjoy ;)
> 
> *****

"If it please my lords and ladies," said Pallas, "I claim the honour of combat with the King."

Laurent nearly rolled his eyes. Of course this was a custom amongst Akielons, with strength valued above all else it seemed. Foolish really, but Laurent admitted there was some value to brute strength, never having had it himself. Yes, it had its moments, he lamented, the discarded window of the Inn flashing through his head. He flushed softly at the memory.

Then Damen stood, and in a single movement, dropped his chiton. Laurent's eyes swung toward him so fast he was nearly dizzy, but maintained enough composure to move his head more slowly. Without glancing back, he flicked his hand and motioned to a squire standing nearby to bring him some water while Damen descended the steps, walking to apply the oil for wrestling. It went on smooth against his olive skin. 

Pallas and Damen smiled at one another, then the match began.

A feeling built itself within him, faster than he had the power to control - a heat, an anger, and something more. 

Hands. Off.

Laurent felt his lip begin to curl upward, ready to snarl the command. He stopped abruptly, truly surprised at how urgently he had reacted.

Pallas and Damianos swayed, vying for the best position to take, and for just a moment, Laurent’s control slipped. Less than half a second; that was all it took for his lesser-self to take the reins. And it was begging to be free.

Almost against his will, Laurent began to imagine strong arms grappling his form. Calloused hands moving from shoulder to waist, pulling him down swiftly...a body covering his. Cursing his memory, he felt a weight settle on him, sensing a missing pressure, an emptiness that travelled like sparks along his spine. Suddenly he imagined the stands emptied of spectators, the day fast-forwarding to night, with torches barely lit. 

From their time with the Vaskan army, Laurent recalled how well Damen’s skin reflected fire light, like a warmth he needed to breath. Every inch of them would be patched with dirt as they moved, slowly at first; he knew now from experience Damen never did anything roughly, but watching him shove back against Pallas with pure, refined grace, a lion with full strength…it did something to Laurent. Clothes suddenly constricted, and he shifted in his seat. 

Leaning back slowly, his face feigned a casual interest, knowing it would take an army to distract him now. 

The midday sun caught the gold band around Damen’s taunt wrist, drawing Laurent’s dark-blue gaze. Like swords meeting on a battlefield, their matching bands would clash together as they moved, fingers intertwined. Moving faster and faster, running towards something neither of them could quite reach. The desperation would set in. Helpless in his mind, he would push Damen to the ground, pin his wrists above his head and ride him without pause. Watching with victory as Damen's eyes rolled back, a groan pulled from his lips. And just as quickly Damen’s eyes would reopen to rake his form, so too would they say, for now. Control be damned. 

Laurent knew full well they wouldn’t stay with him above – Damen was wild at heart, never to be tamed. With little effort, he would grasp Laurent's hips, and reverse their positions, just as he was doing on the field. And it would be even better. Angles hitting just where Laurent wanted. A feverish grip. Oil and dirt and sweat gritted against their skin. A nearly painful friction.

And Damen would kiss him, with the passion he lived his whole life by, but so too a softness, as though afraid he would break Laurent. Then Laurent would open to him, restraint broken. Damen would enter him, achingly slow. And withdraw. And enter. Again and again, until he was seeing stars, their bodies the only living, breathing beings in the world. Damen moved to his throat, dropping the whisper of a kiss, a nip, Laurent's skin replying with a pink flush; his head would toss back and – 

The crowds began to cheer as Damianos pinned Pallas to the earth, dust settling around their sweating forms, and Laurent inhaled sharply, clenching his jaw. He saw Damen’s half-smile of victory as he held Pallas to the ground, every muscle on proud display. 

His mind whispered sweetly into his ear...that could be you.

He clenched his fists, and felt again the new weight of his own gold band, newly secured by those same hands. 

No, he couldn’t allow himself this. Desire is weakness. Always has been, always will be.

Attendants had wiped the oil and dirt from Damianos’ body. He made his way to the dais beside Laurent, striding forward with a surety of movement that had always unsettled Laurent - who to anyone else, would have looked simply bored. But Damen looked at him closer. Too close. As usual. 

“What is it?” Damen asked, still naked as the squire approached with wine, the water beside Laurent long forgotten.

Control. Survive. 

His rational self kicked back in, but he refused to meet Damen’s gaze, not wanting to admit that Damen had once again seen through his practiced mask. He met Damen’s gaze briefly with now ice-blue eyes, quickly looking back out to the stands. They were once again full of people, red and blue flags bringing reality back to focus. He barely breathed his replied.

“Nothing.”


End file.
